After lancing the poison about living my life in wee segments in my last post, life is better. I took a huge step for me, and emailed the first three chapters of Break Free to our oldest son. So, far his life has been full of chaotic days and nights and has not had a chance to read it, but what was important to me, was that I took the step! And in a few days if he still hasn't read it? Am working up the courage to ask him to take a few minutes to at least TRY it. I don't really care if he enjoys the story or not. But, I want him to see a different side of me.
Blogging and chatting has caused some minor friction between T.H. and me. He is insanely jealous of my chat friends. Two of my fav chat boys, make me laugh out loud, and I often do while madly typing LOL LOL LIL LIL, and I keep getting the LOOK from T.H. He asks what we are chatting about, and I comply by reading him the funny part of the chat..... Chat Boys and my humor? Yeah, couldn't be farther from T. H.'s if we tried, so he doesn't think what I am giggling about is even vaguely funny. And has even gone to far to ask if I am having an online affair...... Yeah, let me think about this for a minute..... Chat Boys are in their early 20's, and oh, that's right, GAY. The last time I checked, was a girl. Hang on a moment......'k I checked (censored so as not to cause ewwwwww's) and yup still a girl. The only thing that my Chat Boys are interested in? Hellz yea my fabulous personality!
To a very, very, very special guy, shit dude, I can not believe how close we have gotten in such a short time. Life is so much better with you as my friend, much, much better! And let me know when you need my evil and I will be extra good!
I have gotten so much out of my short time in blogland, it is just completely unbelievable. Met some super people, shed buckets of tears for some of you, and had sleepless nights worrying about if you will be ok. Spread tons of comments around, hoping that some of my advice helps. Sometimes I think my different view as a mom, gives me a different spin on things.... course I might be wrong!
And what have I gotten back? Loads of support! Box cars full of smiles, hugs, giggles and yeah, LOVE and acceptance! Living in Hell Town was very unhealthy for my self esteem. For 29 long years, living somewhere that tore me down, made me feel bad about myself, always being on the outside, ripped my always fragile self esteem. And these last two months? I am slowly patching the rips, rents and tears. And I won't lie to you, it has been hard. Pulling out the dross that unkind and hateful people have filled me with. And as I find the dross, it goes right in the rubbish bin. A work in progress, someone that is just not going to idle in the slow lane, but I wanna cruise down the road, flirting with redlining the engine, flat out fast, out loud. Fully ALIVE.
And to a newly found friend, I want my vanilla sandwich cookie!
And sweetie boy, the first person in blogland to see me, love you! Just because you are last? Yeah, so, so not least at all! And hey, without a doubt you are cute!
*LIL = Laughing Inappropriately Loudly
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Shards in Boxes
My life is shattered into small shards of access. There are only a few who have ever seen all of me, all parts of me, not just what they were allowed to see. I keep myself 'safe' that way. If they only know what they are allowed to see, then my real true me is safe from them.
I think that being unloved and beat as a child by my mother, caused me to protect as much of me as I could from any more hurt. Trying to keep what was happening at home a secret, was my first box, my biggest box, the box that I still have, and only T.H. and you my fellow bloggers know about.
Why is it a secret? I have opened up that frightful box to several people through out the years, and have gotten a weird responses, causing me to shut my box up tight again. What kind of responses have I gotten that would convince me to keep silent all of these years? I will give you just a few.....
When I was 8 my maternal grandmother passed on. She reined in to a great degree the severity of abuse that was dealt out to me. Afterwards my mother came completely unglued, unhinged, and uncontrolled. This time period was without a doubt the darkest of my days. The beatings became nightmarish. Pulling a drawer out of a dresser and beating me with it, until she broke the drawer. And then beating me with the pieces, because I had broken the drawer..... This became the time period that I began to fear the iron. If she was ironing, she always would burn me with it, and laugh at my tears, or even worse beat me because I tried to get away from it. And she had this belt......
At some point in that school year, I couldn't take it any longer, and needed to be rescued from her. She had cut off all contact with her family, so no help from them. I stayed in at recess one day, I had decided to tell my teacher, because they had always told us children if you need help tell your teacher, or a policeman. To say I was nervous does not even come close. I was humiliated about my abuse, and went to great lengths to hid the evidence. Shaking and quivering I walked up the the teacher, who gave me a rather cold look and asked why I needed to see her..... I told her, and she didn't believe me! The only way I could think to convince her, was to show her how my mothers rages had painted me with bruises. Deeply shamed, I lifted my skirt to show my upper legs, and the teacher laughed and told me to stop fishing for sympathy.
I have been told I am a lier, and to stop whining everyone got spanked as a child. To stop exaggerating. I have had it thrown back in my face. Using it to make fun of me. In someways from the reactions I have gotten, it somehow becomes my modifier. As if that is all that is important to know about me. I have become a one note human. And so, I stopped telling people, and closed that box for good.
As our children grew up, I could never figure out the right time or the right way to tell them about my childhood. And now they are all grown, and I have said a few small things, but the large ugliness? No, and never. What good would it do? How would it help them? I can see only that it would hurt their very soft hearts. I was bruised enough, I do not feel the need to pass the burden of my past to them.
I had a very best female friend in high school that never knew I used drugs. Didn't know I had sex with many a boy, and never knew what was truly going on in my home, and the deep core of despair within me. Bubbly silly girl stuff was placed in one box. Drugs and carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels in my purse to keep a constant buzz, a different box. Porn Boy knew more about me than any one in high school, he knew about the boys, and the drinking, and if suspected anything about my home life he never said.
And if my life was scattered among many a box before, moving to a small town where there was not even a hint of a slot for me to fit in, caused me to build more boxes. For years there were only party lines in Hell Town. And people were so not shy about listening in, as in they would yell out to their kid to stop doing whatever. And use their names. And would often break into the conversation to add their own views on the current topic....... Causing me to bundle up more and more of me, to keep me safe. But, no matter how many boxes I built, how tightly I closed down and hid more and more of me, it didn't help one bit. One very socially powerful woman took some very innocent comment made by me the wrong way, and set out to destroy me.
She told everyone that I was going down to the local bar and jumping into the back seat with any and every guy I could find. Now you have to remember Hell Town is small, no like small small. Around 300 people. Most of the people that frequented that bar were all military men who had no other connection to the town except for the bar, so who was to say that she was lying? Right, no one. Three long torturous months went by, when I rarely if ever left our home. And when I did, whispers followed. I did finally figure out a plan to discredit her, it took months to come to fruition, but the rumors were always there.
So, here I am, at 50. And am getting very tired of hiding so very much of me. T.H. has asked me not to open some of the boxes for the boys. The sex, the drugs, the drinking, keep the box closed on those dear. I am sick of hiding my blog, sick of hiding the fact I am writing a blog. I friended The Gay Onion, on my now old Facebook account, and when I realized that it led right back to this blog. I almost had a panic attack. Now to be harshly honest, I found the whole Facebook thing boring and dull as hell.
But, when my freedom here to blog out my true feelings, without having to edit, was threatened, my heart froze. And I quickly dumped my account. Except for three people, all of rest of my "friends" on Facebook, were people who weren't even nice to me when I still lived in Hell Town. Luckily, for the past few months I have been complaining about not enjoying the whole Facebook experience, and have spoken more and more about dumping my account.
So, is there anyway of dismantling any of these damned boxes? I have been throwing away boxes that were built for living in Hell Town, and to tell you the truth, T.H. isn't happy about some of them. I have become more open about somethings with the boys, and he is so not pleased. I have stopped a great deal of the self editing, and am saying things that cause me to get the "Look" from him. I am trying to unpack me, trying to finally attempt to express the true and real me. Wanting to have as few boxes as possible. A very upsetting side effect of me opening up to the boys, is that when we are allow without T.H., we act differently, than when he is with us..... So, I suppose I have just built a new box? Why do we have to act differently around him? Because he feels that some of the things we talk about are inappropriate. Are they? I do not know, to us they are not, but to him, yeah they are.
One blog friend has said that my blog is so wholesome, but my chats are anything but. And that struck me hard. I am still living in those fucking boxes. From here on out? Yeah, I am going to attempt to show more of me, open up more as my whole self, not just a box or two. And maybe practicing with you my blog friends, will teach me how to live without my boxes in real life.
I think that being unloved and beat as a child by my mother, caused me to protect as much of me as I could from any more hurt. Trying to keep what was happening at home a secret, was my first box, my biggest box, the box that I still have, and only T.H. and you my fellow bloggers know about.
Why is it a secret? I have opened up that frightful box to several people through out the years, and have gotten a weird responses, causing me to shut my box up tight again. What kind of responses have I gotten that would convince me to keep silent all of these years? I will give you just a few.....
When I was 8 my maternal grandmother passed on. She reined in to a great degree the severity of abuse that was dealt out to me. Afterwards my mother came completely unglued, unhinged, and uncontrolled. This time period was without a doubt the darkest of my days. The beatings became nightmarish. Pulling a drawer out of a dresser and beating me with it, until she broke the drawer. And then beating me with the pieces, because I had broken the drawer..... This became the time period that I began to fear the iron. If she was ironing, she always would burn me with it, and laugh at my tears, or even worse beat me because I tried to get away from it. And she had this belt......
At some point in that school year, I couldn't take it any longer, and needed to be rescued from her. She had cut off all contact with her family, so no help from them. I stayed in at recess one day, I had decided to tell my teacher, because they had always told us children if you need help tell your teacher, or a policeman. To say I was nervous does not even come close. I was humiliated about my abuse, and went to great lengths to hid the evidence. Shaking and quivering I walked up the the teacher, who gave me a rather cold look and asked why I needed to see her..... I told her, and she didn't believe me! The only way I could think to convince her, was to show her how my mothers rages had painted me with bruises. Deeply shamed, I lifted my skirt to show my upper legs, and the teacher laughed and told me to stop fishing for sympathy.
I have been told I am a lier, and to stop whining everyone got spanked as a child. To stop exaggerating. I have had it thrown back in my face. Using it to make fun of me. In someways from the reactions I have gotten, it somehow becomes my modifier. As if that is all that is important to know about me. I have become a one note human. And so, I stopped telling people, and closed that box for good.
As our children grew up, I could never figure out the right time or the right way to tell them about my childhood. And now they are all grown, and I have said a few small things, but the large ugliness? No, and never. What good would it do? How would it help them? I can see only that it would hurt their very soft hearts. I was bruised enough, I do not feel the need to pass the burden of my past to them.
I had a very best female friend in high school that never knew I used drugs. Didn't know I had sex with many a boy, and never knew what was truly going on in my home, and the deep core of despair within me. Bubbly silly girl stuff was placed in one box. Drugs and carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels in my purse to keep a constant buzz, a different box. Porn Boy knew more about me than any one in high school, he knew about the boys, and the drinking, and if suspected anything about my home life he never said.
And if my life was scattered among many a box before, moving to a small town where there was not even a hint of a slot for me to fit in, caused me to build more boxes. For years there were only party lines in Hell Town. And people were so not shy about listening in, as in they would yell out to their kid to stop doing whatever. And use their names. And would often break into the conversation to add their own views on the current topic....... Causing me to bundle up more and more of me, to keep me safe. But, no matter how many boxes I built, how tightly I closed down and hid more and more of me, it didn't help one bit. One very socially powerful woman took some very innocent comment made by me the wrong way, and set out to destroy me.
She told everyone that I was going down to the local bar and jumping into the back seat with any and every guy I could find. Now you have to remember Hell Town is small, no like small small. Around 300 people. Most of the people that frequented that bar were all military men who had no other connection to the town except for the bar, so who was to say that she was lying? Right, no one. Three long torturous months went by, when I rarely if ever left our home. And when I did, whispers followed. I did finally figure out a plan to discredit her, it took months to come to fruition, but the rumors were always there.
So, here I am, at 50. And am getting very tired of hiding so very much of me. T.H. has asked me not to open some of the boxes for the boys. The sex, the drugs, the drinking, keep the box closed on those dear. I am sick of hiding my blog, sick of hiding the fact I am writing a blog. I friended The Gay Onion, on my now old Facebook account, and when I realized that it led right back to this blog. I almost had a panic attack. Now to be harshly honest, I found the whole Facebook thing boring and dull as hell.
But, when my freedom here to blog out my true feelings, without having to edit, was threatened, my heart froze. And I quickly dumped my account. Except for three people, all of rest of my "friends" on Facebook, were people who weren't even nice to me when I still lived in Hell Town. Luckily, for the past few months I have been complaining about not enjoying the whole Facebook experience, and have spoken more and more about dumping my account.
So, is there anyway of dismantling any of these damned boxes? I have been throwing away boxes that were built for living in Hell Town, and to tell you the truth, T.H. isn't happy about some of them. I have become more open about somethings with the boys, and he is so not pleased. I have stopped a great deal of the self editing, and am saying things that cause me to get the "Look" from him. I am trying to unpack me, trying to finally attempt to express the true and real me. Wanting to have as few boxes as possible. A very upsetting side effect of me opening up to the boys, is that when we are allow without T.H., we act differently, than when he is with us..... So, I suppose I have just built a new box? Why do we have to act differently around him? Because he feels that some of the things we talk about are inappropriate. Are they? I do not know, to us they are not, but to him, yeah they are.
One blog friend has said that my blog is so wholesome, but my chats are anything but. And that struck me hard. I am still living in those fucking boxes. From here on out? Yeah, I am going to attempt to show more of me, open up more as my whole self, not just a box or two. And maybe practicing with you my blog friends, will teach me how to live without my boxes in real life.
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Twins and the Sailor
I found this wonderful story blog last night, and sped thru all of the available chapters. A navy pilot comes home after a tour of duty, and is greeted with the horrible news that his sister and her husband have died in a car accident. Only there is a shining bright spot in Cam's heart, his twin nephews were at home, when their parents died. The boys move in with him, and the story spools out from this point. The story is warm, heartfelt and full of complex emotions. If you enjoy reading, give this story a try, it will prove to be time well spent. Intrigued? Click here, The Twins and the Sailor
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Adventures with Porn Boy
In high school, a great many of my best friends were guys. We would endlessly debate about topics such as, quarterbacks, the NFL draft, engines and the like. I do have to admit that the topic of basketball was a total snoozefest for me, and I would defect to the girls or to the more nerdy end of the boys table. Science is fun!
One of the gang o' boys that I hung out with had a real thing for porn magazines. He had some friend or other who worked at an adult store, and would give/sell him mags. Now, Porn Boy carried all of his collection with him at school. His mom had come across them before and tossed them all out. When he had tired of a mag, he would sell it. Porn Boy and I were closer than the rest of the boys were.
We had the same twisted sense of humor, and yes we both hated quarterbacks... Until Brett Favre came along that is...
Porn Boy and I only shared one class together, and I sat behind him. For two reasons, he was a great shield and I could get in a wonderful nap, and, yeah the porn was interesting. We had a system set up, if I touched his shoulder, it meant don't turn the page until I tapped him again. After Christmas our schedules changed and most of his classes were at the opposite end of the school from his locker. And yeah it was a pain to shlep from one end of the school with all of those damed books. So he shared my locker, and life was good.
Until one day he came running up in a total meltdown panic. Turns out there was a rumor going about the school that a locker check was supposed to happen soon. A few years before, some boys had been caught with porn mags, and the school couldn't do anything about it. Why? Well, there wasn't a school rule about it. They quickly plugged that error hole quickly. Why didn't he just take them home? I asked him that as well, he explained that ever since the Grounding of Forever as PB put it, she routinely went thru his room. He couldn't trust his buddies to give them back. So, what to do??
You want to put them in my locker?? Are you insane? No, you are right there is no rule against girls having porn...... But, still like.... yeah I like to look at them too....but nah no I am in trouble enough as it is. So, you owe me one, who cares! No! You are right tho, how much trouble could I get into anyway..... no school rule against me possessing porn on school property....even if they did catch me..... what the hell, yeah put them in my locker. Just take your school books or they will know they are yours.
You read all of that right. I went from being against it completely to going along with the whole thing. I swear to God, someone dropped me on my head or something as a baby. In went the porn, out came his school books, and honestly the topic flew right out of my head.
The next day I am sitting in homeroom, when the office runner came with office notices, and my name was called. Huh? Why am I going to the office? Not one clue in my head. So, on the long walk to the office, I was going over my sins that I could think of. No absences, so no forged notes from home. Smoking at lunch, but that was an instant office visit. Humm, I seem to be clean! Must not be in trouble after all! Yay me! Light heart, clean conscience me, turned in my note and took a seat. Quicker than usual I was ushered back into the Dean of Girls office.
As I entered the office my heart plunged down to the molten core of the earth. Sitting on her desk was Porn Boy's stack, of well porn. Time for some first class, gold plated bullshit. And so the third degree began. Who did the pornography belong to. Me. Really? You like to look at naked women? Now what is the correct answer to that one? Because honestly, I only enjoyed the action shots porn shall we say. Never was interested in looking at girls naked. So, screwing up my courage, I answered. Yes, I like looking at naked women. A really funny look crossed her face. Let me get this straight, this is your porn and you enjoy looking at naked women? Ya know the saying about rats leaving a sinking ship? My head was the ship and my mind, yeah the rats. Empty of any good BS at all. Nodding my head like some sort of moron, lack of any words available to me. Finally some rats came running back to the ship, and I found my self telling her it was not against the school rules for me to have porn on school property. After a good haggle, leaving me drained and limp, I got out of the office, and yeah I did try to get the porn back, before leaving the office.
Lunch time rolled around, and I gave it to Porn Boy with both barrels. I shot him so full of holes he was out of blood to leak. But, at least unlike other trips to the Dean of Girls, no detention! So, yay me! He apologized to me, we were solid again and the rest of the day spooled out.
Next morning, home room, office runner, again my name was called. Now, if I was confused yesterday, today I was totally lost. I get to the office, and I have an appointment with the guidance councilor. Whatever, so I wait for my boring midyear class check. Slumping in my seat, getting comfortable for what was usually a long wait. Before I got quite settled in, my name was called. Damn, I usually wait for 30 minutes or longer for a 5 minute meeting. Humm, this does not bode well for yours truly. Into his bomb shelled office, I sit rather gingerly, wondering what is going on, because suddenly the memory of already having my midyear class check pops into my head.
After hemming and much clearing of his throat, and never once meeting my eyes, he was seemingly fascinated with his pen. Finally after 12 of my lifetimes, he comes out with it. So, I am attracted to girls? At first his sentence made no sense at all to me. What? Why would you think that? Then in an explosion of understanding, I am again so full of anger at PB that had he been in there, I could have cheerfully removed every trace of his genitals! No, I am not attracted to girls. Why do I like to look at naked women then? Now that was a really good question. Digging up some diamond plated BS, I came up with that I wondered what it would be like to look like a more usual girl. Because truth to tell, no hips and the breast fairy hadn't dropped off much of a delivery. And then the big guns came out, and shot me down. Why did I need I need porn-o-graphy for that? Any women's magazine would do. Rat-a-tat-tat, and just that quick my BS was shot down. Did he want me to scheduled an appointment with my parents to discuss my..... individuality? Huh? What? Ahhh! No! No! That's fine! Promising to not bring any more porn on campus I ran from his office.
Spending most of lunch yelling at Porn Boy, who for some unknown reason, found the idea of me being a lesbian hysterical. I finally forgave Porn Boy, and we were solid, again. A few days later, a new student stood with his tray trying to decide where to sit. Oh, honey come sit with me. An asbestos suit was needed to just look at him! Hot! Hot! Hot! Thinking what the hell, I jumped up and pulled him over to our table. Well, over the course of the next few days, things heated up fairly quickly between us. Our school had a no kissing policy, one that I was always in trouble for breaking. I served more detention for kissing than you can believe. Pulling me into the dimmer part of the locker area, Hot Boy and I proceeded to bruise, bend and outright shatter several school rules. Oh, but Hot Boy was so worth it! A teacher walked by, stopped and then backed up. As he got closer to us, he looked at me, then looked again, turned around and walked away. To say I was confused, would be putting it mildly, he had caught me many times in the past. After kissing Hot Boy all over campus and never getting into trouble for it, I decided that they were trying to encourage me into kissing the "correct" sex! Things fizzled out with Hot Boy fairly quickly. I think his hotness had burned out any semblance of personality. And after kissing several different guys, my get of out trouble kissing card disappeared. I guess they had decided that I was "fixed".
One of the gang o' boys that I hung out with had a real thing for porn magazines. He had some friend or other who worked at an adult store, and would give/sell him mags. Now, Porn Boy carried all of his collection with him at school. His mom had come across them before and tossed them all out. When he had tired of a mag, he would sell it. Porn Boy and I were closer than the rest of the boys were.
We had the same twisted sense of humor, and yes we both hated quarterbacks... Until Brett Favre came along that is...
Porn Boy and I only shared one class together, and I sat behind him. For two reasons, he was a great shield and I could get in a wonderful nap, and, yeah the porn was interesting. We had a system set up, if I touched his shoulder, it meant don't turn the page until I tapped him again. After Christmas our schedules changed and most of his classes were at the opposite end of the school from his locker. And yeah it was a pain to shlep from one end of the school with all of those damed books. So he shared my locker, and life was good.
Until one day he came running up in a total meltdown panic. Turns out there was a rumor going about the school that a locker check was supposed to happen soon. A few years before, some boys had been caught with porn mags, and the school couldn't do anything about it. Why? Well, there wasn't a school rule about it. They quickly plugged that error hole quickly. Why didn't he just take them home? I asked him that as well, he explained that ever since the Grounding of Forever as PB put it, she routinely went thru his room. He couldn't trust his buddies to give them back. So, what to do??
You want to put them in my locker?? Are you insane? No, you are right there is no rule against girls having porn...... But, still like.... yeah I like to look at them too....but nah no I am in trouble enough as it is. So, you owe me one, who cares! No! You are right tho, how much trouble could I get into anyway..... no school rule against me possessing porn on school property....even if they did catch me..... what the hell, yeah put them in my locker. Just take your school books or they will know they are yours.
You read all of that right. I went from being against it completely to going along with the whole thing. I swear to God, someone dropped me on my head or something as a baby. In went the porn, out came his school books, and honestly the topic flew right out of my head.
The next day I am sitting in homeroom, when the office runner came with office notices, and my name was called. Huh? Why am I going to the office? Not one clue in my head. So, on the long walk to the office, I was going over my sins that I could think of. No absences, so no forged notes from home. Smoking at lunch, but that was an instant office visit. Humm, I seem to be clean! Must not be in trouble after all! Yay me! Light heart, clean conscience me, turned in my note and took a seat. Quicker than usual I was ushered back into the Dean of Girls office.
As I entered the office my heart plunged down to the molten core of the earth. Sitting on her desk was Porn Boy's stack, of well porn. Time for some first class, gold plated bullshit. And so the third degree began. Who did the pornography belong to. Me. Really? You like to look at naked women? Now what is the correct answer to that one? Because honestly, I only enjoyed the action shots porn shall we say. Never was interested in looking at girls naked. So, screwing up my courage, I answered. Yes, I like looking at naked women. A really funny look crossed her face. Let me get this straight, this is your porn and you enjoy looking at naked women? Ya know the saying about rats leaving a sinking ship? My head was the ship and my mind, yeah the rats. Empty of any good BS at all. Nodding my head like some sort of moron, lack of any words available to me. Finally some rats came running back to the ship, and I found my self telling her it was not against the school rules for me to have porn on school property. After a good haggle, leaving me drained and limp, I got out of the office, and yeah I did try to get the porn back, before leaving the office.
Lunch time rolled around, and I gave it to Porn Boy with both barrels. I shot him so full of holes he was out of blood to leak. But, at least unlike other trips to the Dean of Girls, no detention! So, yay me! He apologized to me, we were solid again and the rest of the day spooled out.
Next morning, home room, office runner, again my name was called. Now, if I was confused yesterday, today I was totally lost. I get to the office, and I have an appointment with the guidance councilor. Whatever, so I wait for my boring midyear class check. Slumping in my seat, getting comfortable for what was usually a long wait. Before I got quite settled in, my name was called. Damn, I usually wait for 30 minutes or longer for a 5 minute meeting. Humm, this does not bode well for yours truly. Into his bomb shelled office, I sit rather gingerly, wondering what is going on, because suddenly the memory of already having my midyear class check pops into my head.
After hemming and much clearing of his throat, and never once meeting my eyes, he was seemingly fascinated with his pen. Finally after 12 of my lifetimes, he comes out with it. So, I am attracted to girls? At first his sentence made no sense at all to me. What? Why would you think that? Then in an explosion of understanding, I am again so full of anger at PB that had he been in there, I could have cheerfully removed every trace of his genitals! No, I am not attracted to girls. Why do I like to look at naked women then? Now that was a really good question. Digging up some diamond plated BS, I came up with that I wondered what it would be like to look like a more usual girl. Because truth to tell, no hips and the breast fairy hadn't dropped off much of a delivery. And then the big guns came out, and shot me down. Why did I need I need porn-o-graphy for that? Any women's magazine would do. Rat-a-tat-tat, and just that quick my BS was shot down. Did he want me to scheduled an appointment with my parents to discuss my..... individuality? Huh? What? Ahhh! No! No! That's fine! Promising to not bring any more porn on campus I ran from his office.
Spending most of lunch yelling at Porn Boy, who for some unknown reason, found the idea of me being a lesbian hysterical. I finally forgave Porn Boy, and we were solid, again. A few days later, a new student stood with his tray trying to decide where to sit. Oh, honey come sit with me. An asbestos suit was needed to just look at him! Hot! Hot! Hot! Thinking what the hell, I jumped up and pulled him over to our table. Well, over the course of the next few days, things heated up fairly quickly between us. Our school had a no kissing policy, one that I was always in trouble for breaking. I served more detention for kissing than you can believe. Pulling me into the dimmer part of the locker area, Hot Boy and I proceeded to bruise, bend and outright shatter several school rules. Oh, but Hot Boy was so worth it! A teacher walked by, stopped and then backed up. As he got closer to us, he looked at me, then looked again, turned around and walked away. To say I was confused, would be putting it mildly, he had caught me many times in the past. After kissing Hot Boy all over campus and never getting into trouble for it, I decided that they were trying to encourage me into kissing the "correct" sex! Things fizzled out with Hot Boy fairly quickly. I think his hotness had burned out any semblance of personality. And after kissing several different guys, my get of out trouble kissing card disappeared. I guess they had decided that I was "fixed".
Friday, November 13, 2009
My Most Favorite Pair of Jeans
These torn, ripped and quickly heading for the trash are my favorite pair of jeans. Why? Because they just fit perfectly. Tight in all the right places, loose enough to sit and be happy. These were my go to jeans for years. Lately every time I drop them into the laundry basket, I give thought to throwing them away. I have had them in my hand poised above the trash, but was just unable to let them go..... They haven't left the house since earlier this summer, that was before the one rip got so large. Now they are at home jeans.
Today I got the large rip caught on the cupboard handle in the bathroom, and finished blowing out that large rip, so now instead of two rips, it is one giant hole...... Their time is up I'm afraid.
In high school I was a bit of a fashion maverick. I used sandpaper on my jeans, to make them super soft. After sanding them, would put them on, and with a razor blade modify them by cutting horizontal lines across the thighs. Then I would sand the cuts to make them fray.... If you are wondering about cutting myself while doing this, yes I did until the trick of how hard to push was learned. Steep learning curve that one was! Girl jeans never fit me, too long, were wide in the hip, something I didn't have until I was almost 25. So, jean shopping was always carried out in the boys department, where jeans are labeled with sense. Add a pair of high top converse in black and a many size to large long sleeved tee and I was good to go! Or how about the days I dressed kinda like a girl? Tights, short skirts, long sweatshirts or tees. Several of my shirts were almost as long as my skirts, causing some interesting looks let me tell you.
I went thru a period of wearing black nail polish and black lipstick...... Hair in a on purpose fizzy perm, substitute teachers always gave me the eye. And when I answered the questions or added to the discussion in an intelligent manner, it was obvious they were surprised. There was no doubt they were judging this book by it's cover. And the two didn't add up.
You would think dressing like a freak-a-zoid that the boys would avoid me at all costs. And except for the black lipstick time, and to be honest, there was one guy who really got off on that...... But anyway, because I didn't act silly and could talk about things they were interested in, football, cars, etc., they saw me first as a friend. And that would sometimes evolve into dating, not always, but sometimes. I remember one lunch where we got into a kinda heated argument about mufflers. Glass packs and cherry bombs and oh were we opinionated on which we liked better. Me? Oh I was a glass pack fan. Loved the crackle sound they made.
But honestly, most of these guys were nothing more than friends. And the better the friend, the less liable I was to date them. Cause to be honest, dates were cheap, but friends were priceless. Never falling in love before meeting T.H., I picked up and dropped boys as my fancy wandered to fresher fields, none of them ever really meant much to me. There were a few, very few but even with them it wasn't even close to love.
And to be brutally honest about myself, if I felt them start to cling, or I thought they might be falling in love with me, they were let go quickly. I never wanted to give someone that power over me. I barely had a hold on my self at this time, and was afraid to open up that far, and let anyone in. Unloved at home, unable to find anything lovable within myself, this was not something I was comfortable opening and examining. Besides if someone tells you they love you, and then later that day, beats you with a belt until you are bruised and sometimes bleeding, love is not something you are looking for. It is something to run from.
Learning to love myself is a constant process. T.H. pried the lid off of my heart, but the boys cut the can into pieces an scattered them far and near. From being afraid of the perverted love of my mother showed me, to having a warm and open loving heart, that is honestly overflowing with love. Once my love bubbled up and that well started to flow, it hasn't slowed at all. In fact the flow from it has increased day by day, until love is an easy emotion for me to express. What a long way from a pair of ripped jeans, huh?
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Photogenic Alaska, mountains
The first blogger that I exchanged emails and chatted with, has requested photos of the real Alaska. All of these pictures were taken by The Husband. If you enjoy this post it could be a monthly post. Because believe me when I tell you I have thousands of pictures. It is hard to aim your camera at something that is not beautiful.
My header picture was taken at -20 below, out on the trail T.H. (The Husband) was snow machining on.
This area is where T.H. goes moose hunting. This is sometime in September. And yes, the snow is typical for this time of the year. Honestly? I have seen every month of the year. Not left over snow, coming from the sky snow... I was in total shock seeing snow in June, July and yes August.
High foothills around Mt. Denali. In the Healy area. This is also around the middle of July. Looks smooth doesn't it? Those 'short' bushes are mostly dwarf willow, and are around waist high. Blueberry bushes also grow in this area. Alaskan blueberries are very different from what you are used to seeing. They are smaller and bursting with flavor. After eating an Alaskan blueberry, the lower 48 ones are tasteless and watery.
High mountain sheep country. This was the middle of July. T.H. and #3 son were on a sheep hunting trip in the Tok area.
Prince William Sound by Whittier. This is one of the nameless creeks that tumble down the mountain sides that ring this area. Some of our family went shrimping for the day. We used cat food to bait the shrimp traps. It was a wonderful trip, we stayed in a pop up camper, two of our sons came, we got the sillies and just couldn't stop laughing that night!
I am not a good sailor, I just had to remember to never look down, or every thing I had ever eaten wanted to leave me.
My first thought after deciding to do this, was how to choose from the zillions of pictures we have. I decided to do a theme post. Did you enjoy? What would you like to see next? Would you like to see animals next?
My header picture was taken at -20 below, out on the trail T.H. (The Husband) was snow machining on.
This area is where T.H. goes moose hunting. This is sometime in September. And yes, the snow is typical for this time of the year. Honestly? I have seen every month of the year. Not left over snow, coming from the sky snow... I was in total shock seeing snow in June, July and yes August.
High foothills around Mt. Denali. In the Healy area. This is also around the middle of July. Looks smooth doesn't it? Those 'short' bushes are mostly dwarf willow, and are around waist high. Blueberry bushes also grow in this area. Alaskan blueberries are very different from what you are used to seeing. They are smaller and bursting with flavor. After eating an Alaskan blueberry, the lower 48 ones are tasteless and watery.
High mountain sheep country. This was the middle of July. T.H. and #3 son were on a sheep hunting trip in the Tok area.
Prince William Sound by Whittier. This is one of the nameless creeks that tumble down the mountain sides that ring this area. Some of our family went shrimping for the day. We used cat food to bait the shrimp traps. It was a wonderful trip, we stayed in a pop up camper, two of our sons came, we got the sillies and just couldn't stop laughing that night!
I am not a good sailor, I just had to remember to never look down, or every thing I had ever eaten wanted to leave me.
My first thought after deciding to do this, was how to choose from the zillions of pictures we have. I decided to do a theme post. Did you enjoy? What would you like to see next? Would you like to see animals next?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Fun with Truck
When I married The Husband he already had this truck. No, it was new then, this picture is about 20 years down river from then.
This was his pride and joy. He loved this truck and when it fell to pieces, and the kids were all in high school and money was so tight we didn't have the funds to repair it, so he parked it for good. I thought he was going to cry. He still has it, and is talking about getting it going again. I hope he does, this hunk of metal holds so many wonderful memories.....
When we met, I was living in Indiana, and after we decided we couldn't live without each other, he gave me the bad news. He wouldn't even think about marrying me unless I came to Alaska first. Many marriages go belly up because the wives couldn't take living in Alaska, let alone in a remote village. A long, long plane ride, and then finally! Joy! We fell into each others arms, which had been so empty without each others warmth. And that is my first view of the Truck. Sitting in the airport parking lot, gleaming in the midnight sun, he had washed and polished and vacuumed Truck into cleanliness.
A week or so later, we are taking a ride down on the Denali Highway. If ever a road was misnamed, it has to be this one. It is gravel and dirt, and washboard.... Anyway, being young, and in love, kissing was a major part of this day. He kept pulling over to let me look at glaciers (awesome!) and the over(out?) looks, impressive, and of course kisses were exchanged. Each and every time we pulled over to look and kiss, this old truck would pass us by. And later on they would be pulled over, and we would pass them. This continued for miles, and miles. We finally arrived at the roadhouse for lunch, and were sitting at at table waiting for our meals, when who should walk in? Yup! The man from the other truck. Seeing us, he asked if all that kissing made us hungry?
A while later, I needed the truck to go to the next town over, they have a small grocery store. This place is like something right out of the movies. Dark almost black wooden plank floor, that creaks when you walk. And a little bit of everything. Food, ammo, gloves, puzzles, pots and pans, light bulbs, pants roofing felt, etc. At lunch I rode back to work with him, and then at quitting time, would come back to pick him up. Kisses! And then he was gone.
At this point very few people had met me. He worked on a military base. Him being 6 ft, and me a foot shorter, I had to move the seat forward. I jumped out of the passenger side, the truck was lifted and was easy to get out of, but I had to climb up in it. So, around the truck, open drivers door, and begin to work the seat lever to move it forward. Finally, after putting up a valiant fight, I won and the seat slid forward. Climbing in, getting the pillow on the seat, clicking shut the seat belt, ready for take off. I throw the gear shift into reverse, the truck lurches, and into reverse we go. And not just the truck! The seat slides back, taking me with it! The truck is still going slowly in reverse, and I can't reach the pedals! Finally getting the seat belt undone, pulling my self forward with the steering wheel, I can reach the brake, and stomp it. Throwing the truck back into park, I look around. Whew! Thank heavens he didn't like to park up close!
Opening the door, jumping out, war on the seat begins. Shaking and pulling, pushing and cursing, the seat gives up and moves forward again. Whew! Yay! Giving it one last shake, jerk, to be assured that is is indeed locked into place, it makes a comforting twangy sound. Climb in, pillow under me, the hell with the seat belt for right now. Hanging on tightly to the wheel, yeah that is right I have not trust for this seat now, drop it into reverse, lurching! And then, the seat goes sliding back again!!!! Now the truck is beginning to fill with noxious fumes from all of the cursing taking place. Opening the door, little birds flying by fall from the sky from the fumes... Out I jump, and the war begins anew.
Making the angels cry with my foul language, I shake and jerk, getting into the truck at one point, kneeling on the floor board pulling the seat. Hearing that twangy sound again, but this time I was not going to be deceived by that placating sound, and continued to work the seat over. And then I heard it! A deep thunking sound! Yes! Fist pumping in glee, so full of adrenalin, I jump in! Sticking that damned pillow back on the seat, I hang on for dear life, and drop her into reverse, hoping the seat will hold. It does! Angels weep for me again! Stopping, putting on my seat belt I head off to town!
I only get to the guard shack on my journey, when I am stopped by the M.P.'s. They all knew The Husband's truck, but not me. Unbeknownst to me a M.P. had been watching me the whole time. They had called ahead to stop the truck and had already called The Husband. Turns out they thought some kid was trying to steal The Husbands truck! He still teases me about it to this day!
A few years down stream, we are out cutting fire wood. There there is a jolly big swamp between the cutting area and the rest of the trail. Our first baby is with us, he is all of 20 months or so. We cut get to the area The Husband likes to cut firewood without any problems. On the way back the truck is overloaded with wood. And we get stuck. From years of experience, The Husband cut fire wood in truck lengths to make it easier to unload and reload the truck in the swamps if he got stuck. So, we empty the truck, quick work, jump in, and vroom, we are free, bouncing and jumping, leaping and bucking we make it thru the swamp. Leaving 1st in the truck, we begin the long work moving the wood up to the truck. Meanwhile 1st falls asleep, and sleeps thru most of this activity. Then he wakes up, moves around the cab, and manages to lock all the door locks! Moving yet another load of wood to the truck we find that we have a crying baby, he wants out, he wants us! We can't get the doors opened, The Husband had left the keys in the ignition! He finally pries the sunroof open, reaches in, and pops the door open. A very tearful boy fell into my arms. He was soon soothed and all was sunshine and rainbows again. Lesson learned, we never left the keys inside the truck again!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
silly me
am feeling under the weather and while trying to send someone an message under the friend connect managed to add me as a follower....... could someone send me a how to so i a can un-follow myself?
back to the blankets!
hugs and kisses
biki
back to the blankets!
hugs and kisses
biki
A most unusual mom
From the very first moment we brought home our first baby, the most common refrain I have heard, was how unusual of a mom I am.... when said by other parents, the unusual wasn't a compliment, and when kids said it to me, it was. And, I didn't really ever understand until I aged along with our boys. While I politely listened to all of the advice all new moms receive, I thought it was all rubbish! Utter and complete rubbish. Here is some of the "wonderful" advice I received.
I was told again and again to let the baby cry, it was good for him! WTF! So, I am to allow a raw and new creature who is out of his natural element, and who must be experiencing some sort of distress cry? Alone? He has not been alone since his conception! For the first time since his ears starting working, he does not hear the thump of my heart, the whoosh of my lungs, the gurgle of my lunch. And everyone added that it was important to keep the noise level as far down as possible. I am to leave a small being alone and in the quiet with his distress? FFS NO! I carried my new baby around with me everywhere. I sat him on the counter while I did the washing up. And even though dogs howl at my singing, baby boy seemed to enjoyed it. I laid him on my lap while I folded the laundry, and would talk to him, and kiss his sweet little face. And in the afternoons I would lay on the sofa watching after school toons, and would strip him down to his diaper, and pull off my shirt and cuddle him against me, and cover us both with a warm blanket. Those few hours of toon watching was some of his happiest hours of the day. He would be so relaxed the rest of the afternoon and evening.
I was told to start toilet training baby boy at the tender age of two. Two! He still had issues working a spoon, and getting the food into his mouth every time. If operating a spoon was tough work for a two year old, how is controlling his bladder supposed to accomplished? I required a short hospital stay of three days when baby boy was just past two. My mother in law took it upon herself to begin toilet train my dear son. After coming home after only three short days, I had a child beside himself! Clingy, fussy, and fearful of his before beloved grandmother. He wouldn't let her hold him for a very long time after that. She was spanking him each time he would wet his diaper! He. Was. Two! Weeks went by before my sunny little boy came out from behind his cloud. You can just imagine the amount of abuse heaped on my head for not allowing her to keep him again after that, and for not toilet training. I waited until he was three, and that first night went to bed in his brand new undies, and that was that!
If they want to wear a superman shirt and swim trunks with their fuzzy slippers, who cares? Is there some child fashion police that monitors my house that I wasn't aware of? Why do people seem to need to break their child's spirit so quickly? They are not horses that need to be broke to harness! Small people, middle sized people, large size people need to exercise their sense of silly. We all grow up and get on with life with all of it's seriousness, but why do some of us feel the need to start their wee feet on that path so early? If it is not endangering them, only feeding their sense of play, and adventure, I fail to see the harm.
I sat on the floor for countless hours, coloring, building with legos, racing cars making car sounds, and stacking blocks with them. We just played, giggled, laughed until tears came out of our eyes, and our bellies hurt from laughing, cheeks tired from smiling so hard. I was always their mom, never wanted to be a friend, but a playful, joyful mom. We had lunch under the table, in closets, on a blanket in the living room. Packed the lunch into a pack and went climbing mountains, forging raging rivers, fighting bears, dinosaurs, and all manner of beasts. Our dinner was shot in the hallway many an evening, and then drug into the kitchen to cut up and cook.
Countless books pooled their way into our afternoons, and evenings. Reading aloud to them, allowing them to stop the story and add what they thought was important to the exchange. But, those afternoons were so not about the book really, just the being together. Making cookies, where we had more flour on us and the floor, than in the batter. Misshapen cookies that tasted all the better for their deformity. Letting them choose dinners, the choosing, made them so proud of the dinner. "Me picked da green beanies and and peas, and mash-ed poptatos, and you like mac-roni wiff cheese daddy?" Yes, weird odd dinners, but the smiles, oh the smiles on their little faces as they told daddy all about what was for dinner.
Now, they are older, and summer vacation looms ahead of us, ripe with days of adventures, and surprise. I would write out clues and hide them around the yard, pack their lunch and hide it at the end of the clues. They would range back and forth across the yard. They always said those lunches tasted the best! Winter has her cold cruel claws into our months, to cold to go out and play, to far to drive for a movie and a pizza. So, we would borrow movies from our friends, and I would make pizza, we would eat on blankets on the floor in front of the tv with the lights off, soda pop to drink, and ice cream with toppings for dessert. Bed time would be pushed back, and fun would be the word of the night.
I only told the kids to clean their room, if they needed help in finding something in their jungle of a room. Or unless it flowed out into the hallway, and yeah it happened a few times.. Their room, and if it didn't bother them, why should it bother me? They did have to bring me dirty clothes and their sheets. Messy is one thing, dirty is another. And weekends were devoted to video games, snow machines, four wheeling, fishing, camping, closing the curtains and watching all day marathons. We played together, giggled together, teased each other, and respected each other. Were their groundings? Yelling at offsprings? Days of frustrations? FFS! Of course. But under the normal life of raising four healthy male teens, the rowdiness, the wonderful noise level, late nights of playing video games together with them until the wee hours of the morning, was love.
High schoolers in a tiny town, with most of the adult population impaired with one or more substances, our worry that our boys would fall prey to the disease of altering their minds to ease the boredom of their bodies. So, our house became the place to hang out. Pizza Fridays, Mac and cheese and hot dogs Saturday. The boys would take over the living room and the dining room, for their weekend long activities. Alaska in the winter is often to cold to go out and muck about. The table would be filled with computers. These boys would lug towers and monitors, and miles of cable to our house, and would set up a lan party playing one game or another. The living room would host the nintendo, and the flocks of boys would flow from room to room, sharing all the equipment, and being loud, silly and nothing but fun. They neighborhood boys would often pull The Husband or myself into a quiet corner to have a private chat about something they needed help on.
We allowed them the freedom to make mistakes while we could still help guide them back to safety. When they got to high school, they were no longer asked about their school assignments being completed. It was time to learn some personal responsibility, and it is much easier to learn from tiny easily corrected mistakes than to hold their hands until they are, how old? Did they stumble? Yes, did they learn? Sometimes it took getting burned more than once before they learned their lesson. And while we allowed them to fail, we never allowed them to grieve about it on their own.
I have been asked how old our boys are, and have been cagy about answering.... why you are wondering. To be honest...... the few I have told have been surprised at my age..... and I am enjoying the friendship so much I am afraid of loosing it, but being friends means being honest with each other, so here we go. I turned 50 this summer.
I wrote this post for several reasons. One to just come clean about the whole age thing, it has been bothering me, I felt like not saying anything was the same as lying to all of you. The ones I have chatted with, it seems to have come up in the conversation, and I have been honest with each of them. What is funny even though I plainly and clearly state my female status in life, I still get asked if I am indeed a girl. Even as a small child, girls never really took to me, something I have never been able to understand. It was always the boys who were my pals, best friends, confidantes, and shoulders to cry on. Second just to talk about my views on how children should be raised. As if they are the most precious substance in the world, oh yeah, they are!
I was told again and again to let the baby cry, it was good for him! WTF! So, I am to allow a raw and new creature who is out of his natural element, and who must be experiencing some sort of distress cry? Alone? He has not been alone since his conception! For the first time since his ears starting working, he does not hear the thump of my heart, the whoosh of my lungs, the gurgle of my lunch. And everyone added that it was important to keep the noise level as far down as possible. I am to leave a small being alone and in the quiet with his distress? FFS NO! I carried my new baby around with me everywhere. I sat him on the counter while I did the washing up. And even though dogs howl at my singing, baby boy seemed to enjoyed it. I laid him on my lap while I folded the laundry, and would talk to him, and kiss his sweet little face. And in the afternoons I would lay on the sofa watching after school toons, and would strip him down to his diaper, and pull off my shirt and cuddle him against me, and cover us both with a warm blanket. Those few hours of toon watching was some of his happiest hours of the day. He would be so relaxed the rest of the afternoon and evening.
I was told to start toilet training baby boy at the tender age of two. Two! He still had issues working a spoon, and getting the food into his mouth every time. If operating a spoon was tough work for a two year old, how is controlling his bladder supposed to accomplished? I required a short hospital stay of three days when baby boy was just past two. My mother in law took it upon herself to begin toilet train my dear son. After coming home after only three short days, I had a child beside himself! Clingy, fussy, and fearful of his before beloved grandmother. He wouldn't let her hold him for a very long time after that. She was spanking him each time he would wet his diaper! He. Was. Two! Weeks went by before my sunny little boy came out from behind his cloud. You can just imagine the amount of abuse heaped on my head for not allowing her to keep him again after that, and for not toilet training. I waited until he was three, and that first night went to bed in his brand new undies, and that was that!
If they want to wear a superman shirt and swim trunks with their fuzzy slippers, who cares? Is there some child fashion police that monitors my house that I wasn't aware of? Why do people seem to need to break their child's spirit so quickly? They are not horses that need to be broke to harness! Small people, middle sized people, large size people need to exercise their sense of silly. We all grow up and get on with life with all of it's seriousness, but why do some of us feel the need to start their wee feet on that path so early? If it is not endangering them, only feeding their sense of play, and adventure, I fail to see the harm.
I sat on the floor for countless hours, coloring, building with legos, racing cars making car sounds, and stacking blocks with them. We just played, giggled, laughed until tears came out of our eyes, and our bellies hurt from laughing, cheeks tired from smiling so hard. I was always their mom, never wanted to be a friend, but a playful, joyful mom. We had lunch under the table, in closets, on a blanket in the living room. Packed the lunch into a pack and went climbing mountains, forging raging rivers, fighting bears, dinosaurs, and all manner of beasts. Our dinner was shot in the hallway many an evening, and then drug into the kitchen to cut up and cook.
Countless books pooled their way into our afternoons, and evenings. Reading aloud to them, allowing them to stop the story and add what they thought was important to the exchange. But, those afternoons were so not about the book really, just the being together. Making cookies, where we had more flour on us and the floor, than in the batter. Misshapen cookies that tasted all the better for their deformity. Letting them choose dinners, the choosing, made them so proud of the dinner. "Me picked da green beanies and and peas, and mash-ed poptatos, and you like mac-roni wiff cheese daddy?" Yes, weird odd dinners, but the smiles, oh the smiles on their little faces as they told daddy all about what was for dinner.
Now, they are older, and summer vacation looms ahead of us, ripe with days of adventures, and surprise. I would write out clues and hide them around the yard, pack their lunch and hide it at the end of the clues. They would range back and forth across the yard. They always said those lunches tasted the best! Winter has her cold cruel claws into our months, to cold to go out and play, to far to drive for a movie and a pizza. So, we would borrow movies from our friends, and I would make pizza, we would eat on blankets on the floor in front of the tv with the lights off, soda pop to drink, and ice cream with toppings for dessert. Bed time would be pushed back, and fun would be the word of the night.
I only told the kids to clean their room, if they needed help in finding something in their jungle of a room. Or unless it flowed out into the hallway, and yeah it happened a few times.. Their room, and if it didn't bother them, why should it bother me? They did have to bring me dirty clothes and their sheets. Messy is one thing, dirty is another. And weekends were devoted to video games, snow machines, four wheeling, fishing, camping, closing the curtains and watching all day marathons. We played together, giggled together, teased each other, and respected each other. Were their groundings? Yelling at offsprings? Days of frustrations? FFS! Of course. But under the normal life of raising four healthy male teens, the rowdiness, the wonderful noise level, late nights of playing video games together with them until the wee hours of the morning, was love.
High schoolers in a tiny town, with most of the adult population impaired with one or more substances, our worry that our boys would fall prey to the disease of altering their minds to ease the boredom of their bodies. So, our house became the place to hang out. Pizza Fridays, Mac and cheese and hot dogs Saturday. The boys would take over the living room and the dining room, for their weekend long activities. Alaska in the winter is often to cold to go out and muck about. The table would be filled with computers. These boys would lug towers and monitors, and miles of cable to our house, and would set up a lan party playing one game or another. The living room would host the nintendo, and the flocks of boys would flow from room to room, sharing all the equipment, and being loud, silly and nothing but fun. They neighborhood boys would often pull The Husband or myself into a quiet corner to have a private chat about something they needed help on.
We allowed them the freedom to make mistakes while we could still help guide them back to safety. When they got to high school, they were no longer asked about their school assignments being completed. It was time to learn some personal responsibility, and it is much easier to learn from tiny easily corrected mistakes than to hold their hands until they are, how old? Did they stumble? Yes, did they learn? Sometimes it took getting burned more than once before they learned their lesson. And while we allowed them to fail, we never allowed them to grieve about it on their own.
I have been asked how old our boys are, and have been cagy about answering.... why you are wondering. To be honest...... the few I have told have been surprised at my age..... and I am enjoying the friendship so much I am afraid of loosing it, but being friends means being honest with each other, so here we go. I turned 50 this summer.
I wrote this post for several reasons. One to just come clean about the whole age thing, it has been bothering me, I felt like not saying anything was the same as lying to all of you. The ones I have chatted with, it seems to have come up in the conversation, and I have been honest with each of them. What is funny even though I plainly and clearly state my female status in life, I still get asked if I am indeed a girl. Even as a small child, girls never really took to me, something I have never been able to understand. It was always the boys who were my pals, best friends, confidantes, and shoulders to cry on. Second just to talk about my views on how children should be raised. As if they are the most precious substance in the world, oh yeah, they are!
Saturday, November 7, 2009
10 random facts about me in honor of my followers
I was looking over my blog today and came to the realization that I don't post a great deal of info about me. So, here in an easy condensed form is some random facts about me.
1. Yes, I am a girl type person. Married to a boy type person. We have four sons, and they are all my favorite! Oh, and Torchy if you are reading this post, this is for you :O
2. I live in Alaska. At 3 am, it is currently 10 degrees outside. We are having a mild winter, and I am loving it. I don't like driving when it gets slick, it scares the hell out of me. And after the thermometer dips to -20 and gets stuck there, I usually only leave the house if I have to. I am allergic to the cold!
3. I don't watch much tv. When the commercials come on, I get up and do something, and often forget to come back to finish the show. The exceptions to this is Andrew Zimmen Bizarre Foods, and Project Runway. If I watch tv, and I am alone, it is always toons. I love them! They are silly, make me laugh, and go fast enough to keep me from getting bored....
4. In a choice of sweet versus salty and/or spicy, sweet looses every single time. Suckers are my favorite form of sweet, followed by coffee ice cream, then apple pie.
5. I love beer. And prefer dark and bitter. Guinness on tap is my go to. Other than that I am a stout drinker. Usually only ever have one at a sitting, cause Biki is a cheap date!
6. So, you know I am not truly Biki Hon-ko, yeah. To explain the choice of my fake name.... 'k I love to read, words are so my friend. In japanese hon means book, and ko means child, so my 'last' name means book child. And the Biki? You say it Beekey. And it has no meaning, I just started playing with sounds I like and these went nicely together I thought.
7. I hate to use the shift key, and am always going back to shift things up to snuff. Am also a terrible speller, and when writing am usually reduced to @#$%# and then off to google to fix things up for me.
8. To use a wide brush, I don't like pop music. There are a few pop songs that have slipped in... but for the most part no. I listen to Marilyn Manson, Linkin Park, Filter, Seether, Korn, Godsmack, some Adema, some Static X, The Kills, and strangely enough Bobby Bare Jr. I like his music because of his wonderful lyrics, so smart the way he turns a phrase. And many artists that I only like one or two of their songs.
9. I can not stand to watch violent movies, read violent books, or play games where I have to kill things.... There are a few violent movies I can handle. If the kill happens like bang! and the person falls down dead, I can deal with it. But, if they are being hurt, and are crying?? No can do! And it gives me horrible terrible nightmares! How tender am I? I haven't been able to watch The Mummy, the beginning where they torture the guy, made me run from the room.
10. I love to read! My strike zone is huge. But, I have to say that I hate romance! What a waste of brain cells, might as well watch tv. Sci-fi, fantasy, manga, biographies, mysteries, old classics. My favorite authors, not listed in any order: Agatha Christie, Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Rudyard Kipling, Edgar Rice Burroughs, J. R. R. Tolkien, Isaac Asimov, Frank Herbert, Terry Pratchett. I love manga. I started out reading Shojo which is aimed at girls, but now read mostly seinen or shouen. These last two catagories are aimed at guys. Shouen is aimed at teen boys, and is usually adventure based, Bleach is my all time favorite from this genre. Seinen is for adult men, my favorite of these is Old Boy. Also read from numerous story websites.
11. A bonus fact! I make delicious homemade bread (without the aid of any machines) and make killer pizza. In fact I was offered start up money to open up a pizza restaurant. I wanted to call it Pi. Told you I was many shades of geeky! But, I thought my children were more important than any undertaking and I turned him down.
1. Yes, I am a girl type person. Married to a boy type person. We have four sons, and they are all my favorite! Oh, and Torchy if you are reading this post, this is for you :O
2. I live in Alaska. At 3 am, it is currently 10 degrees outside. We are having a mild winter, and I am loving it. I don't like driving when it gets slick, it scares the hell out of me. And after the thermometer dips to -20 and gets stuck there, I usually only leave the house if I have to. I am allergic to the cold!
3. I don't watch much tv. When the commercials come on, I get up and do something, and often forget to come back to finish the show. The exceptions to this is Andrew Zimmen Bizarre Foods, and Project Runway. If I watch tv, and I am alone, it is always toons. I love them! They are silly, make me laugh, and go fast enough to keep me from getting bored....
4. In a choice of sweet versus salty and/or spicy, sweet looses every single time. Suckers are my favorite form of sweet, followed by coffee ice cream, then apple pie.
5. I love beer. And prefer dark and bitter. Guinness on tap is my go to. Other than that I am a stout drinker. Usually only ever have one at a sitting, cause Biki is a cheap date!
6. So, you know I am not truly Biki Hon-ko, yeah. To explain the choice of my fake name.... 'k I love to read, words are so my friend. In japanese hon means book, and ko means child, so my 'last' name means book child. And the Biki? You say it Beekey. And it has no meaning, I just started playing with sounds I like and these went nicely together I thought.
7. I hate to use the shift key, and am always going back to shift things up to snuff. Am also a terrible speller, and when writing am usually reduced to @#$%# and then off to google to fix things up for me.
8. To use a wide brush, I don't like pop music. There are a few pop songs that have slipped in... but for the most part no. I listen to Marilyn Manson, Linkin Park, Filter, Seether, Korn, Godsmack, some Adema, some Static X, The Kills, and strangely enough Bobby Bare Jr. I like his music because of his wonderful lyrics, so smart the way he turns a phrase. And many artists that I only like one or two of their songs.
9. I can not stand to watch violent movies, read violent books, or play games where I have to kill things.... There are a few violent movies I can handle. If the kill happens like bang! and the person falls down dead, I can deal with it. But, if they are being hurt, and are crying?? No can do! And it gives me horrible terrible nightmares! How tender am I? I haven't been able to watch The Mummy, the beginning where they torture the guy, made me run from the room.
10. I love to read! My strike zone is huge. But, I have to say that I hate romance! What a waste of brain cells, might as well watch tv. Sci-fi, fantasy, manga, biographies, mysteries, old classics. My favorite authors, not listed in any order: Agatha Christie, Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Rudyard Kipling, Edgar Rice Burroughs, J. R. R. Tolkien, Isaac Asimov, Frank Herbert, Terry Pratchett. I love manga. I started out reading Shojo which is aimed at girls, but now read mostly seinen or shouen. These last two catagories are aimed at guys. Shouen is aimed at teen boys, and is usually adventure based, Bleach is my all time favorite from this genre. Seinen is for adult men, my favorite of these is Old Boy. Also read from numerous story websites.
11. A bonus fact! I make delicious homemade bread (without the aid of any machines) and make killer pizza. In fact I was offered start up money to open up a pizza restaurant. I wanted to call it Pi. Told you I was many shades of geeky! But, I thought my children were more important than any undertaking and I turned him down.
A Giant Thank You!!!!
So, here is how my usual morning goes. From deep basically shut off sleep, to full force awake in a very slow .00000009 milli seconds. Roll over, fetch iphone, check for mails, then log into blogger to see who has posted. Yes, I am that much of a geek! When The Husband is gone, my iphone 'sleeps' on his side of the bed! Anyway, this morning as per usual, I zoomed right past my blog list, and went right for the yummy creamy filling. Wait! Back up the bus! Scrolling back up, NO! Place iphone on the covers, rub eyes, pick it back up, and yup! I am up to 10 TEN, read it, count it how you will, followers!
Surprised is to weak of a word to describe my feelings! Stunned? Yea, that would work. Shocked? Yea, that one also. (hey, how come these descriptive words all seem to start with S?)
From being basically friendless in real life, to having had wonderful, funny, wide ranging conversations on chat what a rush! You have made my days so much more enjoyable! I have the family, and we are a tight knit group. We are always hanging out with each other, texting, emailing, and of course the old fashioned telephone calls! But, it is nice not to have to self edit, as I feel the need to do with the boys. And if you have chatted with me, you understand what I am talking about!
Thank you so very much for taking this "strange" girl type person under your wings of friendship!
hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs,
Biki
Surprised is to weak of a word to describe my feelings! Stunned? Yea, that would work. Shocked? Yea, that one also. (hey, how come these descriptive words all seem to start with S?)
From being basically friendless in real life, to having had wonderful, funny, wide ranging conversations on chat what a rush! You have made my days so much more enjoyable! I have the family, and we are a tight knit group. We are always hanging out with each other, texting, emailing, and of course the old fashioned telephone calls! But, it is nice not to have to self edit, as I feel the need to do with the boys. And if you have chatted with me, you understand what I am talking about!
Thank you so very much for taking this "strange" girl type person under your wings of friendship!
hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs,
Biki
Thursday, November 5, 2009
I'm not a slave to a world that doesn't give a shit
If you aren't familiar with the music of Marilyn Manson, this blog title is from his song The Fight Song.
Nothing suffocates you more than
the passion of everyday human events
and isolation is the oxygen mask
you make your children breath in to survive
and I'm not a slave to a god that doesn't exist
and I'm not a slave to a world that doesn't give a shit
and when we were good, you just close your eyes
...so now we are bad...we'll scar your mind
FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT
FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT
Yesterday, when once again in our country, bigotry lifted it's dirty and evil self out of the gutters, this song came to mind. Why religion feels the need to deprive members of our country of their civil rights, is completely out of my understanding. I am talking about the voters in Maine voting down their equality in marriage law. Once again robbing members of our country of their rights.
What saddens me is that every time a civil rights question rises to the top of our country, it is always the houses of God, abet ran by fallible men, who resist the change. They worked hard to protect the status quo of denying African Americans of their basic rights. And before that, they fought in their houses of worship against freeing the slaves. Yes, there have been a few notable exceptions in our countries history. Henry Ward Beecher fought long and hard to end slavery.
Do members of these churches not understand, that every time you deprive someone of their rights, we are further down the slippery slope away from what our country was supposed to be based on? Freedom and equality, well, freedom for some, and equality only for those we choose, should be our new tag line as a country.
In the sixties when the war on race was raging across this country, the heat of the need of the deprived, blossomed into a firestorm of violence, which has yet to completely heal. Violence is never the answer! Years of being deprived, years of being told to wait by their leaders, years of wanting what is only natural, can only lead down two paths. The path of violence. The path of apathy.
The path of violence has left long lasting scars from those bleak days of the sixties. Scars I am not sure will ever be completely healed, not scabbed over, but healed. And apathy I am not sure can ever be rectified. Do we want our younger LBGTQ members of our society to give up before they even begin?
Why am I so very passionate about this subject? I can sum it up in two small words, civil rights.
Either everyone in our country has the same rights, or none of us do. If we don't speak out for each other, who will? In the darkest days in Germany before WWII, churches stood behind the nazi party, supported the nazi party, preached from the pulpit the hatred of the nazis. Karl Marx considered religion to be the opiate of the masses. And in Germany, the opiate did it's work, it kept the church going masses quiet, believing in their pastors. After using the churches to encourage their members to toe the party line, the nazis came for them. Do you all remember this famous poem from history class?
When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.
When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.
When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.
When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Jew.
When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.
When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.
When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.
When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Jew.
When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.
by Martin Niemoller
Who will be next to lose their civil rights? It is already everyone that reads my blog.... who is next?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Happy Birthday Landyn!
This is a birthday shout out to a very dear young man. I am making your wishes this year. Yeah! I know this is your job as the birthday boy, but pffft, since when did I ever follow rules???
1. That you will find your hearts desire, and they will love you forever!
2. You are a successful at what ever you undertake.
3. Every rainy day ends with a rainbow.
4. Friends beyond counting! (oh yeah, this one is already granted!)
5. At long last, you realize what a truly good person you are.
7. In the dark of night, when all seems bleak, a candle will kindle to keep you company until the sun awakens.
8. Laughter to sweeten every day!
9. Someone to kiss your tears away.
10. Hands to hold, loves to hug, lips to kiss, hearts to share.
Happy Birthday my Angel Boy!
Landyn, go and see your birthday card here.
The Gay Onion
I bumped across this website last night, and laughed until I was crying. If you like The Onion, you will love The Gay Onion. Stop on over and give this blogger some eyes!
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